At the Border, Parents Seeking Asylum Are Willing to Risk Separation Rather Than Go Back to Danger

In the wake of the Trump administration's "zero tolerance" immigration policy, Glamour.com visited families waiting at the California-Mexico border hoping to gain entry into the U.S. even if it means being torn from their children.

There's a certain irony to the fact that the land stretching along the California-Mexico border is a disarmingly beautiful place—the bright, flower-filled fields dotted with charming horse farms puts forth a stark contrast to the Trump administration's "zero tolerance" immigration policy, one that has ripped families apart and reportedly leaves migrant children vulnerable to physical and mental trauma.

On Monday I made my way to the San Diego border alongside Enrique Morones, the founder of Border Angels, and Hugo Castro, a board member of the faith-based nonprofit that advocates for human rights. Admittedly, in my five years of living in Los Angeles, it was my first trip to see the imposing fence for myself. And it marked the first time I drove across the border in more than 20 years.

In San Diego, Morones invited me along for a talk and tour he was giving to a group students on a mission from California and Oregon. Another bit of irony: We met at, of all places, Friendship Park.

A national monument adjacent to Border Field State Park, Friendship Park was dedicated by then first lady Pat Nixon in 1971. At the time the only border was a small barbed-wire fence, where people could meet on either side to see loved ones, shake hands, or share a familial hug. Now an 18-foot-high metal fence blocks all access to people on the other side. Approaching within several yards of the fence during hours other than the official visitor hours, which have been restricted to just Saturdays and Sundays from 10:00 A.M. to 2:00 P.M., is strictly prohibited.

After making the 40-minute walk from the Border Field State Park entrance to Friendship Park's beach, we were once again struck by the border’s off-putting dichotomy, but not in the way you’d think. On the United States side sat a barren beach, save for one Border Patrol agent standing guard at a drop-off overlooking the beach and a few people riding their horses down the stretch of sand. However, on the Mexico side was a true Sunday party. Families gathered on the beach, frolicked in the chilly Pacific waters, and played music. The sound of laughter even flowed through the tightly knit fence that stretched past the crashing waves and into a borderless ocean beyond.

I walked over to the Border Patrol agent to get a glimpse of his view. He bellowed out a command to a man approaching the fence just before I stepped up to his truck. A few students from my group followed and asked him why he chose to become a border agent.

“To protect the laws of the United States. Immigration or otherwise,” he said, in such a rapid response that it was clear he’s answered this question before. “Immigration is a very touchy subject, but you gotta remember one thing—it’s the law.”

He went on to share with the teenagers, some as young as 13 years old, that if their own mother or father committed a crime, say like robbing a bank, they too would be separated from them, which is indeed a fact.

However, he did not mention that people attempting to cross at the legal point of entry just miles from his feet aren’t committing a crime. Instead, they're seeking asylum—which essentially means they're asking for protection from another country because of persecution or dangerous circumstances—or going by the letter of the law to cross with proper paperwork. Even those crossing illegally elsewhere for the first time are simply committing a civil offense, not a criminal one.

But even with the current "zero tolerance" policy put forth by the Trump administration, families are still attempting to cross the border. Because going home again would be put their family in peril.

“We cannot work in Mexico because we are scared of our children being kidnapped,” 34-year-old mother Alejandra* told me as she sat inside the Movimiento Juventud 2000 shelter in Tijuana's Zona Norte neighborhood, a community in one of the nation’s deadliest cities (which hit a record 1,744 homicides in 2017). But the Movimiento Juventud 2000 is also one of the closest shelters to the port of entry and sits just miles from the U.S. border, making it the most desirable location for those seeking entry.

Each day they go to the port to check where their names are on the asylum list. And each day they are told to come back tomorrow.

In the shelter Alejandra and her family share two brightly colored camping tents provided by donation. When they arrived they were given a home, along with blankets and hygienic products in a small pack. The family is also provided a few meals a day. When I visited, dinner was a small bowl of soup and bagels donated from a local shop. They sat at the communal tables filled with children and teenagers. Alejandra watched as her children enjoyed the meal with their new friends before she herself ate the leftover parts of the bagel her youngest daughter left behind.

With Hugo Castro translating, Alejandra explained that she and her husband, along with their five children—four girls and one boy—fled their home in Guerrero, Mexico, a state encompassing the idyllic resort community of Acapulco, which was once frequented by American tourists. However, because of gang violence, people native to the community are fleeing, and the U.S. State Department issued a travel warning for all Americans in the region. And though the government doesn’t believe it's safe enough for Americans to visit, they also don’t believe it’s dangerous enough for Mexicans to warrant asylum.

Children at the Movimiento Juventud 2000 shelter in Mexico eat bagels and soup for dinner.

As Attorney General Jeff Sessions declared last week, “Generally, claims by aliens pertaining to domestic violence or gang violence perpetrated by nongovernmental actors will not qualify for asylum.”

But there, in the community where Alejandra grew up and where she left her mother and father behind, she explained, they would not be able to afford a ransom if their children were kidnapped.

And this isn’t the unfounded fear of a hysterical mother. As Al Jazeera reported, 834 Mexicans were killed in Guerrero alone in 2017.

So the family of seven simply sit and wait inside the shelter, which is a glorified parking lot filled with wall-to-wall tents like theirs. It’s a place they're more than happy to call home as they all take their chances at the port of entry each day. So far, Alejandra explained as she stroked her youngest daughter’s hair, they have been waiting for two weeks. Each day they go to the port to check where their names are on the asylum list. And each day they are told to come back tomorrow.

According to the shelter’s director, José María García Lara, who has run the shelter for about seven years, that asylum list has become increasingly long, and the port processes only 20 to 30 applications a day.

Tents line the parking lot at the Movimiento Juventud 2000 shelter in Mexico.

“Every day around 10 people arrive and around 10 leave, so we cannot take more people because we have a maximum capacity of 107,” García Lara explained via Castro. We stood outside the shelter as the sun went down, and while he spoke, a few people began to meander down the street, hoping to gain entry to his shelter for the night.

When asked if he knows if people are being separated from their children once they pass through, he said it’s simply something he does not know.

“We have not been able to know,” he said. “We do not have any information.”

But just hearing the reports about the separations has enraged García Lara and the other organizations providing assistance at the border. “We are angry,” he said in a stream of thoughts.

Despite the threat of this separation, Alejandra and her husband, Humberto, are willing to try. Because, she said, it’s still offering a better chance for their children.

“It’s sad to leave Guerrero,” she said. “It’s tougher to be in our town, so we are looking for a better future. And the United States is a better future.”

*Alejandra and her husband Humberto chose to be identified only by their first names.